October and Other Poems with Occasional Verses on the War

TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

August, 1918

 
See England’s stalwart daughter, who made emprise
’Gainst her own mother, freeborn of the free,
Who slew her sons for her slaves’ liberty,
See for mankind her majesty arise!
From her new world her unattainted eyes
Espy deliverance, and her bold decree
Speaks for Great Britain’s wide confederacy:
The folk shall rule, if only they be wise.
 
 
Ambition, hate, revenge, the secret sway
Of priest and kingcraft shall be done away
By faith in beauty, chivalry and good.
One God made all, and will all wrongs forgive
Save their hell-heart who stab man’s hope to live
In mutual freedom, peace and brotherhood.
 

OUR PRISONERS OF WAR IN GERMANY

October, 1918

 
Prisoners to a foe inhuman, Oh! but our hearts rebel:
Defenceless victims ye are, in claws of spite a prey,
Conquering your torturers, enduring night and day
Malice, year-long drawn out your noble spirits to quell.
Fearsomer than death this rack they ranged, and reckon’d well
’Twould harrow our homes, and plied, such devilish aim had they,
That England roused to rage should wrong with wrong repay,
And smirch her envied honour in deeds unspeakable.
 
 
Nor trouble we just Heaven that quick revenge be done
On Satan’s chamberlains highseated in Berlin;
Their reek floats round the world on all lands ’neath the sun:
Tho’ in craven Germany was no man found, not one
With spirit enough to cry Shame!—Nay, but on such sin
Follows Perdition eternal … and it has begun.
 

HARVEST-HOME

VERSES TO THE AMERICANS ON THEIR THANKSGIVING DAY, CELEBRATED IN ENGLAND NOVEMBER 28, 1918

 
A toast for West and East
Drink on this Thursday feast
Last in November,
The year when Albion’s lands
Across the sea join hands—
Drink and remember!
 
 
Nineteen-eighteen fulfill’d
The kindly purpose will’d
By the Ever-living,
When first in hope upstay’d
The Pilgrim Fathers made
Harvest thanksgiving.
 
 
And since the seed bore fruit,
Which they went forth to root
In the wildernesses,
Ye now return to find
The Rose that they resigned
With their distresses.
 
 
’Twas when the wide world o’er,
Whatever peaceful shore
Britons inherit,
Britons claim’d right of birth,
And fought hell in the mirth
Of Shakespeare’s spirit.
 
 
Then your true heart was stirr’d,
Your arm raised, and your word
Went forth, forecasting
That the great war should cease
In British bonds of peace,
Peace everlasting.
 
 
The good God bless this day,
And we for ever and aye
Keep our love living,
Till all men ’neath heaven’s dome
Sing Freedom’s Harvest-home
In one Thanksgiving!
 

TO AUSTRALIA

WITH THE WOUNDED AND THE SURVIVORS OF 1914 RETURNING HOME IN AUTUMN, 1918

 
A loving message at Christmastide,
Sent round the world to the underside
A-sail in the ship that across the foam
Carries the wounded Aussies home,
Who rallied at War’s far-thundering call,
When England stood with her back to the wall,
To fight for Freedom, that ne’er shall die
So long as on earth the old flag fly.
 
 
O hearts so loving, eager and bold—
Whose praise hath claim to be writ on the sky
In letters of gold, of fire and gold—
Never shall prouder tale be told,
Than how ye fought as the knights of old
“Against the heathen in Turkye
In Flanders Artois and Picardie:”
But above all triumph that else ye have won
This is the goodliest deed ye have done,
To have seal’d with blood in a desperate day
The love-bond that binds us for ever and aye.
 

September, 1918.

THE EXCELLENT WAY

 
Man’s mind that hath this earth for home
Hath too its far-spread starry dome
Where thought is lost in going free,
Prison’d but by infinity.
He first in slumbrous babyhood
Took conscience of his heavenly good;
Then with his sins grown up to youth
Wept at the vision of God’s truth.
 
 
Soon in his heart new hopes awoke
As poet sang or prophet spoke:
Temples arose and stone he taught
To stand agaze in trancèd thought:
He won the trembling air to tell
Of far passions ineffable,
Feeding the hungry things of sense
With instincts of omniscience,
Immortal modes that should abide
Cherish’d by love and pious pride,
That unborn children might inherit
The triumph of his holy spirit,
Outbidding Nature, to entice
Her soul from her own Paradise,
Till her wild face had fallen to shame
Had he not praised her in God’s name.
 
 
Alas! poor man, what blockish curse
Would violate thy universe,
To enchain thy freedom and entomb
Thy pleasance in devouring gloom?
Behold thy savage foes of yore
With woes of pestilence and war,
Siva and Moloch, Odin and Thor,
Rise from their graves to greet amain
The deeds that give them life again.
 
 
Poor man, sunk deeper than thy slime
In blood and hate, in terror and crime,
Thou who wert lifted on the wings
Of thy desire, the king of kings,
In promise beyond ken sublime:
O thou man-soul, who mightest climb
To heavenly happiness, whereof
Thine easy path were Mirth and Love!
 

October, 1918.

ENGLAND TO INDIA

Christmas, 1918

 
Beautiful is man’s home: how fair,
Wrapt in her robe of azurous air,
The Earth thro’ stress of ice and fire
Came on the path of God’s desire,
Redeeming Chaos, to compose
Exquisite forms of lily and rose,
With every creature a design
Of loveliness or craft divine
Searchable and unsearchable,
And each insect a miracle!
 
 
Truth is as Beauty unconfined:
Various as Nature is man’s Mind:
Each race and tribe is as a flower
Set in God’s garden with its dower
Of special instinct; and man’s grace
Compact of all must all embrace.
China and Ind, Hellas or France,
Each hath its own inheritance;
And each to Truth’s rich market brings
Its bright divine imaginings,
In rival tribute to surprise
The world with native merchandise.
Nor least in worth nor last in years
Of artists, poets, saints and seers,
England, in her far northern sea,
Fashion’d the jewel of Liberty,
Fetch’d from the shore of Palestine
(Land of the Lily and mystic Vine).
Where once in the everlasting dawn
Christ’s Love-star flamed, that heavenly sign
Whereto all nations shall be drawn,
Unfabled Magi, and uplift
Each to Love’s cradle his own gift.
 
 
Thou who canst dream and understand,
Dost thou not dream for thine own land
This dream of Truth, and contemplate
That happier world, Love’s free Estate?
Say, didst thou dream, O Sister fair,
How hand in hand we entered there?